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Dimitri Ali May 2020
We cya do what we wah do,
Everybody have something tuh say.
When yuh try tuh try and try yuh best,
Yuh make next to nothing at the end of the day.

Meh empty bed does laugh at me,
De late hours of de night,
Spent leaned over de work desk being whipped by worries.
Just to get those blue bills that sweet sight.

Yuh see meh fren, slavery is alive and well,
It does just wear a suit and ride in luxary,
Yuh does be quick to buy wah it sell.
Modern day slavery is why we go continue to live in poverty.

Argue amongst we selves as tuh who better,
The 'coolie indian' or the 'hard back creole'
PNM or the UNC,
We argue as to who is de biggest *******,
But them making ******* outta all ah we.

Watch de high prices, de crime, an de struggle,
Yuh feel they give ah dam about we,
Lemme tell yuh, is you fuh you an I fuh I an we go never be we.
Dem hav we so, can't even afford ah nuggle.

Buh we does fett de hardest tho,
We does wine the baddest tho,
We does horn down to the dog tho,
An nobody does do carnival like we!
Ah pride dat is always by yuh side nationwide!

We does take pride in de wrong ting,
We does **** one another, theif and cheat one another.
While Dem ha we like slaves still,
And we grinding slow but still,
We does grind in the old slave mill.
A poem written in Trinidadian creole about segregation and modern slavery from a trini's perspective.
Neuvalence Apr 2018
Between the stone the moss had lay
Cries of help left there to stay
Love and joy lost in the gray
A sight of the land so haunting

The boats on shore were but a few
Huts were scattered across the view
From erosion, the sands withdrew
Not one but I had stood the ground

At this very place where I had grown
Years ago, I had willingly shown
That I too could have walked alone
To reach a place of anew

But on my journey from the sea
I heard my people’s harrowing plea
From miles away—how could it be?
Had the winds taken them away?

Now that I have come return
Time has passed and I have learned
That each life will have their turn
To be at sky's mercy
This a poem I worked on for three hours straight, but was still dissatisfied with it. Now, two weeks later, it's truly grown on me
1SP Dec 2017
Mwen te fèt nan mond sa,
Mond lan nan peche ak dezespwa,
Tankou lòt moun...
Mwen te mache yon chemen nan pèsyade.

Mwen te fèt nan mond sa,
Yon mond nan peche san lafwa,
Tankou lòt moun...
Mwen sote nan lanmè a nan trayizon segondè.

Men avèk favè Bondye,
Mèsi pou Bondye pitye,
Mwen gen yon nouvo lavi
Epi mwen vle pataje levanjil la.

Mwen te fèt nan mond sa,
Mond lan nan peche san paswa,
Tankou lòt moun...
Mwen te monte ti mòn lan nan tout dèt.

Mwen te fèt nan mond sa,
Yon mond nan peche ak tout jwa
Tankou lòt moun...
Mwen te kouche nan kabann lan avèk laperèz.

Men avèk favè Bondye,
Mèsi pou Bondye pitye,
Mwen gen yon nouvo lavi
Epi mwen vle pataje levanjil la.

Mwen konnen kounye a sa...
Gen jijman,
Gen kòmandman
Gen volonte Bondye,
Epi gen favè Bondye.

Pa gen okenn kriye ankò,
Pa gen okenn lensomni ankò,
Gen Bondye pitye sèlman
Se yon privilèj pou gen favè vrèman.

Favè Bondye.
My First Christian Piece written in Haitian Creole. #MinistriesBeyondMissions
Lee Apr 2017
The day the ships came my ancestors we not of the aware of the forced melting *** that would come into existence
The combination of french and spanish confused the delta slaves
Little did they know that neither language would stick on their burnt excuses of  tongues
The days the ships came New Orleans became the beacon of mulatos
And although the conquistadors could **** and beat their slave wives
Their spanish advances were not reciprocated due to lack of of heat to complete the melting
The languages that conquered the delta were combined into something that no outsider would want to encounter
That’s why the Americans came and took it like they did the rest of the country
They mistake the magic for voodoo then rebranded it for themselves
Centuries later the delta is still a melting ***
But it’s one my grandmother’s tongue was forced to forget
Her languages were lost next to her mulatto slave ancestors, left to spoil
So now when people ask
“If you’re hispanic why can’t you speak spanish?”
I can barely find the words in english to explain the years of torture my tongue has endured
When spanish speaking couples walk into my work
My tongue is eager to spill words it wishes it had the ability to create
My blood begins to hate itself over the fact that a third of itself is unrecognizable
My tongue is still waiting for the new boats to arrive and reconcer it
All it knows is to be conquered
No self defense here
When all you know is to be conquered
It becomes a challenge to think for oneself
My tongue can’t decide if english, spanish or french is better
My creole mind is yelling thousands foreign curse words not knowing which one is a true sin
Maybe the sin here is letting the burner stay on too long
The day the ships came
My slave ancestors looked at their spanish lovers and said
“My love, what shall we do once the french arrive?”
With their eyes looking into the horizon the conquistadors replied
“Es no problema para mi, pero tu, tu es la propiedad de estos”
Which according to simple history books means
“Good luck”
muna Apr 2016
Mami say "doh marry no fisha man.
Mi daughter lis'en carefully,
Yuh go look fi wan nice doctor man
who have degree an' phd;

who graduate high school;
who finish he college;
'ave car, house wid pool;
who people does acknowledge.

An' at fuss ah nearly lis'en she,
buh it had wan man, did sell fish by de street,
eh have no doctor man nicer than he.
Fisha man, yes, buh he smile sweet.

Man skin rich wid melanin;
man voice smooth like varnish wood.
Ah say ah go neva let 'im in.
Fisha man, yes, buh **** he good.

Mami tell me, leave fisha man alone.
She warn me, say dem come like teef;
fuss yuh heart, den is you dey own.
Buh I gawn and mek she dead wid grief.

She husban' was a fisha man,
an' he give de woman sorrow so.
She did wah fuh me a doctor man,
but even dem is no betta yuh know.

Is years now, every night ah does bawl;
if only God cou'da give me de power,
I won't a marry man at all.
Fisha man smile done tun sour.
Poetry flavoured with Caribbean creole.
mami- mummy
doh - don't
mi - my
yuh -you
go look - will look
'ave - have
fi - for
wan - one
an' - and
fuss - first
de - the
ah - I
buh- but
'im - him
wid - with
neva - never
dem - them/they
den - then
gawn - gone/went
mek - make
wah - want
fuh - for
betta - better
cou'da - could have
won't a - would/will not have
done tun - already turned
ah does bawl- I cry/bawl or I do cry/bawl
svdgrl Apr 2014
To it, I've never been.
but I've dreamed of a place where everything
is coated in corn and comfort.
Wished the past had taken me,
can't help but feel it was about my skin.
Cactus candy and cowboy boots.
Zydeco and haunted hotels.
The voodoo Frank sang about in the end.
The horns sound the streets.
Close curtains, be discreet.
Encircle the barest neck,
with colorful beads.
His family reunions
made me realize I'm on my own.
Until I met a prettier soul.
I don't kiss frogs for love.
I forget the ease in slime.
and let the grease define
an unhealthy outlook.
Sip another lime or a sour.
A ginger begs the hour.
Lonely never leaves,
but warmth is a soco shower.

— The End —